Pink Lemonade

He ordered a pink lemonade and sat in the shade. The summer was alive and in her prime for all to see to his absolute delight. There wasn’t always an easy understanding when necks were burning and a quick walk down the block meant sweat and salt but seeing vibrant light against every dirty corner and a boost of color in the general dress-code made up for it. With a cool drink to hold and condensation between his fingers he could just absorb it like a flower taking in sunlight. He would leave the sunlight to the flowers though and sit in the shady comfort of an umbrella, bar, or lie on his couch and watch the ceiling fan spin in wait for the dusk. It was the nights, still hot and alive but shining with a mix of lights and colors that repainted the city up and down the streets with paradise. Music filled the air and his body with the energy of pure life until he became a wildly dancing marionette under the influence of the experience. Nothing he knew or felt could compare with these visits to heaven to dance with the angels, and it was what he lived for.

He checked his watch and saw it was nearing three O’clock. There were people to meet with and begin the parade towards the festivities of the coming night: dancing and singing in to the hot air all the way there.

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